


Let's Go Back to the Start

by Lady Divine (fhartz91)



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/Lady%20Divine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is a singer at a nightclub, intrigued by one particular man who comes every night to see him sing - a man he swears he's never seen before, but who has a very interesting connection to him.</p><p>This has elements of the Glee episode ‘Bash’ in it (just the fact that Kurt was beaten, and some non-graphic description of his injuries). Futurefic AU. Sort of Skank!Kurt. Warning for angst, language, drinking, smoking, vague mention of underage drug use, mention of sex, and brain damage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ninety-Six Days

Kurt climbs the steps to the stage and peers out past the bright lights as he approaches the mic. He scans the audience through a haze of questionable smelling smoke and spots him. He’s always there, sitting at the bar in the back of the room, arriving right as Kurt steps on stage to perform. It’s hard not to notice him in his three-piece suit and his cashmere coat. Kurt speculates that the entire ensemble costs more than the monthly rent in his shit-hole apartment. Besides, the club where Kurt sings, _The Septic Tank_ , is not what most white-collar people would consider a cozy spot to duck in during Happy Hour for an evening martini. The multitude of leather clad, pierced, and highly tattooed clientele are mostly teenagers who look like they spend most of their time in the mosh pit at a Slip Knot concert; a throng of bitter, angry kids who bought fake i.d.’s the second they turned fifteen. Kurt - tequila drinking, clove smoking Kurt - with his purple dyed hair and his ripped thrift store jeans is every inch of his tattooed skin and his pierced ears one of their kind.

Despite a seven-year age difference they come to _The Septic Tank_ in droves to hear him sing; his high, clear voice belting out darker versions of older torch songs; bluesy angst-ridden melodies about love, loss, and regret. He imagines that has to be the reason Captain CEO comes to the club since he turns away every advance from the young, scantily dressed men and women that approach him, and he drinks only club soda with lime.

The first time Kurt saw him it unnerved him a little – the intensity of his stare watching Kurt’s every move, mouthing the words to the songs when he sings, not taking a sip of his drink until Kurt takes a break during his set. Every night after was more of the same but with each passing night a seed of a memory planted itself in Kurt’s brain. It wasn’t something obvious, not something Kurt could even recall when he tried. It was more like some faded emotion that springs to life whenever he looks into that stranger’s eyes, which is why Kurt seeks him out the moment he steps onto the stage.

Kurt doesn’t know exactly what will happen when this man tires of him and stops showing up. The bloom fighting to grow will most likely shrivel into nothing and Kurt hasn’t decided yet how he feels about that. Kurt can’t help the feeling that this man knows something that _he_ should know, and he longs to pick his brain and find out what it is. The thought overwhelms him, entrances him until he’s singing only to this man, and when his set is through he doesn’t even remember what note he started on or what song he sang right before the end. He prays he didn’t royally fuck up without knowing it.

Kurt bows and smiles, the audience clapping and cheering for him, genuinely clapping and cheering which always fills him with an indescribable joy, but his attention turns back to the man sipping his club soda and Kurt’s eyes become hard. As much as he enjoys the fantasy of a man with expensive tastes who can have anything or anyone he wants coming around just to see him, he can’t afford this kind of distraction. Sure, he’s singing at a dive for less than he makes bagging groceries at the supermarket, but who knows? Someday the right person might walk through the door – the owner of a record label or a music producer looking for new, unappreciated talent. Of course they would more than likely walk into _The Septic Tank_ because their car broke down and they were desperate to use the bathroom, but they would stay because of _him_. So he can’t mess up again.

Kurt needs to talk to this guy and find out what it is about him that keeps him coming around.

He steps off the stage, high fiving those fans that huddle close to the edge to say hi to him and tell him how much they love his voice. He grins and nods appreciatively with one eye trained on the man in the cashmere coat finally ordering a real drink. As soon as he can break away he makes a beeline for the bar and hops onto the closest empty bar stool, staring at the man fearlessly.

The stranger smiles and pushes the shot he ordered Kurt’s way.

“Nice to see you again, darling,” the man mutters, his smile weak, his face etched with lines of exhaustion.

“Why do you stare at me like that when I’m on stage?” Kurt says, deciding to cut to the chase and be done with the mystery, regardless of the way his heart seems to want to go out to this man in his tired state.

The man yawns and shakes his head.

“Excuse me,” the man says. “It’s been a long day.”

Kurt nods, surprised to find out that he actually cares that the burdens of life are affecting him.

“I stare at you because I’m in love with you,” the man says in a dry, flat way that doesn’t indicate insincerity, but tedium, as if he’s repeated the same thing over and over and over before.

“How can you be in love with me?” Kurt scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do,” the man says in the same dry tone.

“But I don’t know you,” Kurt argues.

“Yes, you do,” the man says. “My name is Sebastian.” He yawns again, hiding his mouth behind the back of his hand. Kurt narrows his eyelids and watches him. The name Sebastian rings a distant bell but Kurt isn’t prepared to fess up to it yet.

“Outside of this club, I’ve never seen you before.”

“Yes, you have,” Sebastian says, and Kurt rolls his eyes, grunting at the monotony of his answers. Sebastian reaches into his coat and pulls out a thin envelope.

“I’ve never spoken to you before,” Kurt insists, frowning in confusion at the envelope Sebastian tries to hand to him.

“Yes, you have.” Sebastian thrusts the envelope into Kurt’s hand when he doesn’t take it. “The first night we met here at this bar, we talked for a few hours and then we went to your apartment.”

“That’s right,” the bartender chimes in, passing by and grabbing a bottle of vodka. “You did.”

Kurt’s eyes knit together as he considers the envelope in his hands, and then his mouth drops.

“If you went to my apartment,” Kurt says slowly, “did we…”

“Fuck?” Sebastian finishes, leaning closer to Kurt. “Many, many times.”

Kurt shifts back on his stool, gasping in offense.

“If we…”

“Five total,” Sebastian says, answering the question that hasn’t even passed Kurt’s lips. “A small flock of blackbirds on your left shoulder, the opening strain to _Mr. Cellophane_ down your right side, the name Elizabeth on your inside left ankle, a pair of crossed sai swords on your inside right thigh, and a lotus flower on your ass.” Sebastian leans further forward to close the gap between them again. “And I’ve licked every single one of them,” he whispers. “You seem to favor having the swords licked the most.”

Kurt sneers at Sebastian’s smug, haughty expression.

“Are you always this fucking annoying?” Kurt says, sitting upright when Sebastian moves back. He picks up the shot and downs it with a single snap of his head, figuring he might need it to finish out this conversation.

“You always thought so.” Sebastian watches Kurt turn the envelope over and over in his hands. Sebastian sighs and grabs it, tearing it open at one end and pulling out the letter inside, sliding it onto the bar beside Kurt’s empty shot glass.

“You printed up a hundred of these letters,” Sebastian explains, “and I’ve given you one every evening since.”

 “How many have you given me?” Kurt asks, staring down at the letter with a skeptical, side-long glare.

“This is number ninety-six,” Sebastian says, the smirk fading away, his voice thick and heavy.

Kurt looks back up at Sebastian when hears the change; the clouded expression in Sebastian’s eyes filling Kurt with guilt and an impetus to read the letter, almost like he owes the poor man for sitting through his set when he is clearly dead on his feet. Kurt picks up the letter and unfolds it, chuckling at the salutation.

_Dear Me (Kurt);_

Above the opening paragraph is printed a digital photograph of Kurt and Sebastian naked in bed together, wound around each other, smiling and laughing for the camera. Kurt doesn’t read the letter right away, taking a moment to examine the picture in detail, noting first the small dark wood table by the bedside and the cream-colored sheets with the peony print. The picture was taken at his apartment. They’re lying in Kurt’s bed. Then his eyes move over the image of Sebastian, his walnut-colored hair mussed, his cheeks flushed, his muscular, tan arms holding Kurt tight against him. Kurt swallows hard trying to recall the memory of taking this picture.

He can’t.

_I am writing you this letter to clue you in on a couple of things. Firstly, I am you. A few months ago you saw two men beating up another man in a back alley. You stepped in and stopped the fight. The victim got away, but unfortunately you were beaten pretty badly._

Beneath these lines is a picture of Kurt’s face, his eyes closed, most likely taken while he slept. Cuts and bruises littered his skin, his lip split, and a tube positioned beneath his nose to help him breath. The letter trembles slightly in Kurt’s shaking hand. He looks away for a moment and notices his shot glass is now full again. He throws back the shot quickly to steady his nerves.

_While you were in the hospital they discovered you had suffered some memory loss. It was oddly intermittent. Some days you would forget about being beaten up. Some days you would forget about being out of high school. Some days you forgot the names and faces of all the people who loved you. On the day you were finally released, you left the hospital alone without a word to anyone._

Kurt re-reads that last paragraph a few times, each time taking a divot out of his heart. Most mornings when he wakes up he feels so alone he wants to shatter into a million pieces. He has no home, no childhood memories, no one who loves him to call his own. He always wondered why. He had a wallet and a license and a few odd credit cards. That helped him get his start, but outside of that things got a little fuzzy; blurry images of faces and voices that drifted in and out of his mind in whispers, but nothing concrete that he could hold on to.

It sounds a little too fantastical to be true. The scope of his memory seems to cut off at the moment he leaves the bar, and picks up again when he wakes up in the morning. If Sebastian isn’t lying, then they were together last night; but try as he might Kurt doesn’t remember a moment of it.  

Looking back up at the photo of the two of them in bed he wishes he had.

_It took over a month before a friend of yours tracked you down and told Sebastian where you were, bagging groceries at the Westside Market on 7 th Avenue, and every night he comes to see you sing in an attempt to help jog your memory._

That’s where the letter cuts off. Kurt starts to flip to the next page, but Sebastian stops him.

“Not yet,” he says.

Kurt looks at Sebastian, slightly annoyed by the sudden stop.

“Where’s the rest of it?” Kurt asks.

“That’s as far as you got before we went for round two,” Sebastian says, pointing to the picture at the top of the page.

“Well, what would the rest of it have said?” Kurt asks, feeling the start of tears in his eyes. “If this is true, how come I’ve never been to your apartment? Why haven’t you taken me home?”

“I have.”

“Then how come I wake up every morning in my own bed alone?” Kurt’s voice cracks, his fingers strangling the letter in his hand.

Sebastian’s shoulders slump.

“Sometimes you remember more,” Sebastian starts softly. “Some days you remember nothing. Some days I need the letters to lure you to come home with me. Sometimes I don’t…” Sebastian smiles sadly. “But no matter what happens the night before, every morning you wake up a clean slate. You remember everything from the time you left the hospital, but you don’t remember me. The few times you stayed with me, or I stayed with you…” Sebastian shakes his head. “It didn’t end well.”

Kurt stops shaking, trying to imagine how difficult this must be on Sebastian if indeed this is all true.

“So, what,” Kurt forces past the sobs stuck in his throat, “we’ve been dating this whole time and I don’t remember?”

Sebastian laughs, a stunted sound, empty and humorless.

“No,” he says, reaching over and flipping to the final page of the letter. Kurt looks over the copy of another picture of the two of them. He brings it closer to his face to get a better look. Even without the purple hair the man standing beside Sebastian bears too great a resemblance to Kurt to be anyone else. Kurt examines the edge of the image but he can tell it’s not photoshopped. He’s usually pretty good at spotting a fake. The document underneath though…it had to be genuine. The photocopier picked up the watermark and the signature behind it is definitely his.

Sebastian catches the letter when it slips from Kurt’s fingers.

“We’ve been married for four years, Kurt.” Sebastian refolds the letter and sticks it beside another one in his pocket. “You’re my husband.”


	2. The Ninety-Seventh Day

“Ninety-six days,” Kurt mutters in disbelief, staring down at his hands that have started shaking again. “That’s…that’s more than three months.” Kurt swallows, flexing his fingers, balling his hands into fists, squeezing them tighter and tighter. “That’s a long time.”

“It is,” Sebastian agrees for lack of anything better to say.

“And you’re my husband?” Kurt says. “How?”

“Well, we got married,” Sebastian drawls sarcastically. “There was a ceremony, we exchanged rings, that’s kind of how you become a husband.”

“No, I mean, when did we meet? Where? Was it love at first sight?” Kurt looks at the smirk on Sebastian’s face and frowns. “Something tells me probably not.”

“Nice.” Sebastian rolls his eyes, but his clenched jaw melts into a more relaxed smile. “No, it wasn’t exactly what you would call ‘love at first sight’.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, hoping Sebastian will explain, but Sebastian shakes his head.

“Look,” Sebastian says, the smile fading again, “excuse me if I don’t rush to divulge the entire story of our life together, but I’ve repeated it over and over and it doesn’t seem to trigger any memories, so I thought tonight we could try something new.”

Kurt doesn’t respond right away; the concept of ‘something new’ with regard to regaining his memories meaning little to him.

“What do we usually do?” Kurt asks.

“Well…” Sebastian runs a hand through his hair, leaning his elbow against the bar and cradling his head in his hand, “…we get in my car, drive to my penthouse uptown, and I tell you the story of our fantastic romance from beginning to end…” The way Sebastian says ‘fantastic romance’ – the sarcastic, bitter, strained tone of his voice – makes Kurt chuckle. “Then we call your dad and your stepmom…”

Kurt gasps. Finding out he has a husband is confusing and strange enough, but his father? As many times as he had imagined his parents it never occurred to him that they might still be alive somewhere, waiting for him to return. Kurt’s lip quivers, a tiny movement but even in the dark bar Sebastian catches it. He slides off his bar stool, closing the short distance between them, giving Kurt the chance to stop him or pull away. Sebastian wraps one arm around him and then the other, and then all at once Kurt dissolves into his arms.

“Shhh,” Sebastian soothes, “it’s alright. I’m sorry. I’m blurting things out and…”

“No,” Kurt mumbles through tears, “no, it’s okay, but maybe for now we can not talk about…about my dad.” The word almost doesn’t come out, caught somewhere between a sniffle and a sob. Sebastian nods; Kurt feels it against his neck. Sebastian’s skin brushes against his neck and it’s amazing; comforting and familiar. It unlocks something inside Kurt’s head. Images don’t come back to him completely. They spark in flashes of fleeting thoughts; split second revelations drowned out by too much noise or too much light, obscuring the important details and leaving a soupçon behind.

A whiff of cologne.

The touch of fingertips.

A feather-light kiss, somewhere along his temple.

His hand on a shoulder covered in black fabric. A tuxedo maybe? The tingling sensation firing in his fingertips is smooth and rich.

_Are you alright?_

A chuckle - nervous when he shouldn’t be.

_Of course I’m alright. Why wouldn’t I be alright?_

_Well, it’s kind of our wedding night. Are you nervous?_

Another chuckle, too loud, trying too hard to cover his fears.

_Why would I be nervous? Christ, Sebastian! We fucked last night and twice before the ceremony. What in hell do I have to be nervous about?_

_Because it’s different now. It means something different. It means more._

_Are you telling me that Sebastian Smythe, king of the one night stand, is having deep philosophical thoughts about sex?_

_Kurt, I’m always having deep thoughts about sex, philosophical or otherwise._

Kurt rolls his eyes and lays his head on his new husband’s shoulder.

_But, yes, Kurt. It’s not the same for you?_

Kurt’s eyes flick up to meet Sebastian’s, surprised to see a twinge of hurt. Kurt nods, a shy smile on his lips.

_Yes, it’s the same feeling for me. I know we’ve done it tons of times, but, call me a silly romantic, I want this to be special. I don’t want to mess it up._

Sebastian’s slow burning smile returns.

_If you do that thing you did with your tongue earlier, then I promise you are not going to mess it up._

Kurt smacks Sebastian on the arm and the nervous tension bleeds away, because they’re alone, it’s sunset on the beach, and their beautiful future is beginning.

“We were married on the beach,” Kurt says suddenly, stunned at how he knows that.

“Yes,” Sebastian whispers, “our wedding is the one thing you seem to remember most.”

Kurt tries to conjure up any other memory – the ceremony, their first date, high school - but the sparks fizzle out, the whispers become silent, and all the flashes of light drift away.

“Let’s get out of here,” Kurt says. “Let’s try your plan.”

“Okay,” Sebastian agrees, holding on tighter, and for a long time neither one of them moves – Kurt absorbing the feeling of belonging that comes with Sebastian holding him in his arms and Sebastian relishing embracing his husband again.

Kurt counts several long moments before he speaks again.

“You know, eventually we’re going to have to let go if we’re going to leave.”

He doesn’t want to let go but he’s eager to move on with this plan of Sebastian’s.

“Nope,” Sebastian says.

Kurt giggles, but the way Sebastian keeps him trapped against his body makes Kurt fear that they may actually spend the whole night hugging in this bar.

“You know,” Kurt whispers into Sebastian’s ear so he can feel the heat of Kurt’s breath on his skin, “if we go back to your place, there’s so much more we can do than just hug.”

Sebastian smiles. Kurt can feel it against his neck, and the tentative kiss that follows makes Kurt shiver from the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair.

“There’s my man,” Sebastian murmurs against Kurt’s skin. Sebastian sweeps Kurt off his bar stool, leaving a twenty on the bar to cover his tab, and they walk together arm in arm out of the club.

“I parked in an underground lot just a few blocks from here,” Sebastian says, steering Kurt away from the night club. A small gang of teenagers huddled together outside smoking and laughing and shooting the shit all smile and wave as Kurt shuffles past. A few even nod at Sebastian, raising a hand to give him a high five and a wink. Kurt watches with amusement, turning his head to take one last look at the gaggle before they walk away.

“Do you know them?” Kurt asks.

“You’ve introduced me to some of them,” Sebastian says. “They don’t know that we’re married though. You asked me not to tell anyone.”

Sebastian kicks a broken chunk of cement on the sidewalk ahead of him and watches it skip away along the concrete. Kurt can’t help the guilt that fills him so completely at the thought of denying this amazing man who comes down here every night to watch him sing and tries over and over to bring him back to the life he had before. Kurt wants to apologize but he can’t. He can’t imagine the reason why him from ninety-six days ago wouldn’t want to scream from the rooftops that this man is his husband, but there had to be one. He doesn’t want to give a half-ass apology without knowing why he would make such a lousy decision, but now Kurt doesn’t know what to say, they wallow in the silence too long with that comment still hanging in the air.

“Tell me something about me? About us?” Kurt asks, putting up a hand to stop Sebastian when he starts to object. “I know you have a plan and I respect that, but just to while the time so I don’t focus on how fucking cold it is out here.”

“Well, you’re a frickin’ stubborn-ass princess,” Sebastian says, peeling off his own coat and putting it around Kurt’s shoulders. Kurt wraps the thick material around him, losing himself in Sebastian’s warmth and his smell, snuggling into the arm that has wrapped around his waist and isn’t letting go.

“Okay, now that we’ve got that sorted out, what else?”

Kurt leans his head against Sebastian’s shoulder and Sebastian curbs his surly attitude.

Sebastian has a list of prepared anecdotes already committed to memory for just such an occasion; bits and pieces of information that stray away from certain hot-button topics like the fight that landed Kurt in the hospital, his father’s heart condition, the death of his mother…or of his stepbrother. Sebastian wanted to shoot himself the day he told Kurt that his mother had died in a car accident when he was only eight years old. Kurt cried and cried; absolutely inconsolable. When he had calmed down enough to speak he asked Sebastian to take him to a tattoo parlor so that he could have his mother’s name put on his ankle, in the hopes that he wouldn’t forget.

Several times after that Kurt had asked Sebastian who Elizabeth was.

“Why did I print up a hundred of those letters?” Kurt asks as they turn into the parking garage. “Why not less? Why not more?”

“You wanted to see if your memories would come back on their own,” Sebastian explains. “You didn’t like the idea of psychiatrists and whatnot picking your brain. You said if after a hundred days you didn’t come around that I should…”

Sebastian pauses to take a breath, shuddering slightly with a chill from the cold night air.

“Leave me?” Kurt gasps in horror. “Forget about me?”

“No,” Sebastian chuckles, pointing to a sleek, black car in the distance. “Tie you up with duct tape and drag you back to my penthouse.”

Kurt bursts out laughing.

“Would you have actually done that?” he asks.

“Duct tape’s in the trunk of my car.” Sebastian pulls his key fob out of his pocket and disengages the alarm and the locks on his car.

Kurt’s mouth drops the way it always does when he sees Sebastian’s car for the first time.

“You have a Porsche?” Kurt asks in awe with Sebastian parroting away, laughing when Kurt smacks him on the arm.

“Yes, I have a Porsche.” Sebastian opens the passenger side door and helps Kurt inside. “You seem to have a thing for Porches.”

“But you knew that, right?” Kurt rolls his eyes and falls back in the seat with a huff. Sebastian leans down low and catches Kurt’s stormy eyes.

“That’s why I bought it.” He closes the door, and Kurt feels himself blush, his ears definitely a bright pink by the time Sebastian sits in the driver’s seat.

***

The conversation shifts to a lull on the ride uptown. In his head Sebastian goes over the details of his plan, mentally scrolling through a list of items, making sure he didn’t leave anything out. Kurt simply enjoys the ride, wondering if it would be terribly gauche of him to tell this man – his husband that he’s known for years but really only remembers from the last few hours, that sitting in this gorgeous car is getting him hot. It’s a little too difficult a subject for Kurt to navigate, so he chooses instead to keep his mouth shut and ponder killing his hard-on in silence.

If Sebastian’s luxurious car inspired awe, the penthouse where he lives is positively breathtaking in comparison, but Kurt suspects he’s drooled over it like a noob several times before so he keeps his opinion to himself. Sebastian pulls up to the curb and hands his keys over to the valet while the doorman opens the car door for Kurt.

“Mr. Hummel-Smythe,” the man says with a tip of his hat and a genuine smile as Kurt steps out of the car. “It’s nice to see you this evening.”

“Uh…” Kurt throws a glance over his shoulder. Sebastian joins him quickly, taking his arm and giving it a comforting squeeze.

“Thanks, Antonio.” Sebastian grins at the older man who hurries ahead of them to open the door to the lobby. Sebastian rushes Kurt into the building and straight for the elevator.

“Mr. Hummel-Smythe?”

“Well, technically this isn’t just my penthouse. It’s ours.” Sebastian presses the button for the top floor. “After we got married, you hyphenated your name.”

“And how did you explain all _this_ to your doorman?” Kurt asks with a hint of snark, gesturing over his body, from his colored hair and his piercings to his ripped jeans and his tight black shirt. “I definitely didn’t look like this in that wedding picture you showed me. I probably didn’t look like this when I lived here with you.”

Sebastian wraps his fingers around Kurt’s wrist and pushes him up against the elevator wall, pinning him gently with his body.

“Not that it’s any of his business, but I told him you got a job singing at a dive bar down town and that you’re the hottest thing on two legs.”

Kurt swallows hard, guilt welling up in him again for not telling all those leather clad nobodies that Sebastian is his husband.

“Sebastian, I…”

“Can I kiss you?” Sebastian whispers, cutting Kurt short.

“I…I didn’t think you’d find a need to ask,” Kurt whispers.

“I always ask,” Sebastian says, his eyes staring at Kurt’s lips.

“But…aren’t I your husband?” Kurt asks, his own gaze falling to Sebastian’s lips. “You can kiss me whenever you want.”

“I’m not going to take what you don’t want to give.”

“Oh,” Kurt says lamely, nodding, inching closer and closer to Sebastian’s mouth. Sebastian’s lips barely brush against his and Kurt surges forward, grabbing at the lapels of Sebastian’s suit and drawing him closer. Sebastian moans into Kurt’s mouth, bracing against the wall with a hand on each side of Kurt’s head to keep his balance as Kurt devours him hungrily. The sparks return, firing behind Kurt’s eyes with their intense white light, blurring some images, others so clear they gave Kurt a searing headache.

The one that comes into focus, so vivid it can’t be ignored or swept aside, is of Sebastian, a younger Sebastian, sitting across a table, that same irrepressible smirk on his face but this one cruel and calculating. Kurt sees his mouth moving but his voice weaves in and out, and Kurt can only make out one coherent sentence.

_One of us has a hard luck case of the ‘gay face’ and it ain’t me._

Kurt pulls away suddenly, jolted backward by the memory as if the younger Sebastian wearing the prep school uniform reached out through Kurt’s brain and slapped him in the face.

“You told me I had a hard luck case of the ‘gay face’?” Kurt accused.

Sebastian shakes his head, smiling at the irony.

“You kiss me like that…and that’s the thing you choose to remember?” Sebastian pants against Kurt’s lips.

“Sorry,” Kurt giggles. “It wasn’t exactly by choice.”

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian sighs, “that I ever said that.”

“I believe you.”

Kurt reaches up one more time and presses his lips gently against Sebastian’s mouth right as the doors slide open.

“So…” Kurt starts.

“So…” Sebastian repeats, eyes locked back on Kurt’s swollen lips.

“What’s this big plan of yours?” Kurt bites his lower lip and hears Sebastian scrape his nails down the wall behind him.

“Come on in and I’ll show you.”

Sebastian pushes off the wall and takes Kurt’s hand, walking him backward into the hall and leading him to the only door on the floor. Sebastian unlocks the door and pushes it open, letting Kurt walk in ahead of him. Kurt steps inside, his jaw dropped to his chest. He spins in a full circle, knowing that he’s ogling now but he can’t seem to help himself. If he ever lived in this palace he surely doesn’t remember it. He stumbles to the staircase that leads from the living room to the upper level, feeling as if that is where he needs to go.

“Don’t go into the bedroom yet,” Sebastian calls after him.

Why his feet manage to take him straight to the bedroom he can’t explain, though apparently he’s had sex with Sebastian for the last ninety-five days in a row. Maybe his body remembers where it is he really wants to go. Sebastian races up the stairs behind him, taking them two at a time.

“Okay…” Sebastian stands beside him with his hand on the door knob, preparing for the reveal. “Are you ready?”

Kurt stares at the door, waiting patiently for whatever Sebastian has to show him. Kurt takes a breath and holds, then nods. Sebastian swings the door open and turns on the light. He stands aside to give Kurt space and waits for his reaction.

Kurt doesn’t do anything right away. He doesn’t step in. He doesn’t even move his head to look around. He’s staring unfocused straight ahead. Only when he can’t hold his breath any longer does he breath in sharply and then walk inside. The room is huge, but that’s not the incredible part. Photographs cover every inch of wall space; photographs of Kurt organized and mounted in chronological order. Kurt starts at the beginning and examines them closely - baby pictures, school pictures, pictures of him dancing and singing, all with dates and captions.

Kurt and Elizabeth – 3 days old.

Kurt’s first day of ballet class – age 5.

Kurt and Burt, backyard tea party – age 8.

Kurt and Burt fixing the family Olds – age 12.

Kurt stops with his fingers hovering over a photograph of him with a group of other high school students dressed in matching outfits captioned ‘The New Directions – Junior Year’ to turn and look at Sebastian in amazement, catching him mid-yawn.

“You did this,” Kurt breathes. “You did all of this today. That’s why you’re so tired.”

Sebastian shrugs and smiles.

“I also made you this,” he says, walking off to the bedside table and returning with a leather-bound journal, brown cover barely cracked which means it has to be new. Kurt takes it in his hands and opens it, flipping through the pages. “This is everything,” Sebastian says as Kurt’s eyes skim over the words. “The story of your life, and of our life together. Everything your…well, your father could tell me…” Sebastian says it quickly, trying to skirt past the word in an effort to abide by Kurt’s wishes and not mention his dad, “everything I tell you every night. I figure maybe you could read it in the morning when you wake up so you don’t freak out too badly…you know…for when you sleep…here…”

Kurt closes the book and sees gold embossing on the cover; large lettered words that say, “Read this when you wake up.”

Kurt’s blinks, trying to settle the tears that have collected in his eyes when he notices the bed for the first time – the low, wooden end table positioned beside what is normally his side of the bed, and the cream sheets with the pink poesy pattern.

“Those…those are my sheets,” Kurt mumbles, stepping forward and running his fingers over the flannel material. Then he points at the tiny table. “And that’s my table.”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, following Kurt as he walks toward it. “I had to go to eight stores to find it.”

“I bought it at the thrift shop…” Kurt traces the grain of the wood with his fingertips.

Sebastian chuckles.

“Well, now you have the $800 version.”

Kurt laughs with disbelief.

“You did all this…for me?” Kurt looks up at Sebastian with eyes that start to really see him for the first time. His husband. The man who pledged his life to him – for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, and boy was he holding up his end of the bargain.

“Of course I did.” Sebastian comes up behind him and holds him. “I kind of love you, babe.”

“Only kind of?” Kurt teases, trying to stop the trembling that has spread over his whole body.

“Try…completely…” Sebastian takes the journal from Kurt’s hands and sets it carefully on the table. “Utterly…” He slips the coat from Kurt’s shoulders and tosses it onto a nearby chair. “Absolutely…” Sebastian runs his hands down Kurt’s arms, turning those trembles into fingers of fire racing all over his body. He runs the tip of his nose over Kurt’s shoulders, ending at the crook of his neck, kissing him gently, “…madly in love with you.”

Sebastian’s lips latch onto that spot of sensitive skin at the base of Kurt’s neck, and Kurt’s knees buckle.

“A-am I completely, utterly, absolutely, madly in love with you, too?” Kurt asks, his voice shaking as he fights to stand upright.

“You told me you were…”

Sebastian sighs against Kurt’s skin but his voice sounds sad, full of longing for the man Kurt was and the life they had.

“I think I was,” Kurt mutters, melting back into Sebastian’s arms. “I think…part of me is. I just need to find it.”

“It’s okay.” Sebastian turns Kurt around in his arms. “Take your time.”

“Well, can we start here?” Kurt turns his eyes towards the bed behind them.

“Funny…” Sebastian grabs the hem of Kurt’s shirt and lifts it over his head, pulling it off his arms and tossing it aside, “…we usually finish there.”

Kurt bites back a smile, fumbling with the buttons of Sebastian’s suit wherever he can find them – his jacket, his shirt, his slacks. Sebastian lets Kurt undress him, lets him look at his body with every piece of clothing he removes, lets him trace the lines of his chest and the muscles of his legs with his fingertips and his tongue. It’s the same every time but Sebastian never gets tired of it, because it’s like the first time. As much of a curse as Kurt’s memory loss has been, this part has been a bit of a blessing.

They’re still good together; they still fit.

Sebastian falls back onto the bed, bringing Kurt with him. He runs his hands down Kurt’s chest, reaching for the button to Kurt’s jeans. Kurt closes his eyes and rests his head back on his shoulders.

Each touch of Sebastian’s fingertips on Kurt’s skin ignites a memory.

Dancing together in a bar…or maybe a night club.

Making out in the back seat of a large, black car…not Sebastian’s but Kurt’s.

Saying goodbye in an airport with tears flowing down Kurt’s cheeks, his nose running, but he doesn’t seem to care who sees.

Sebastian twirling him around in his arms; a gold ring glittering on Kurt’s finger.

Kurt absorbs Sebastian’s touches and welcomes all the memories they bring, even if they come at him fast, overwhelming him as another part of his brain tries hard to concentrate on the here and now, where Sebastian’s lips move down his skin to that tattoo on his thigh that he loves to lick, his hands grabbing for Kurt’s to lace their fingers together. Kurt whimpers, feeling the last strains of his sanity siphon away when Sebastian takes Kurt’s cock in his mouth and starts to suck slowly.

“Oh, Sebastian,” Kurt moans, trying not to move his hips and force himself into Sebastian’s mouth, trying to hold on to every lap of Sebastian’s tongue because he never wants this to end.

“More,” Sebastian groans around the head of Kurt’s cock in his mouth.

“M-more what?” Kurt stutters into the air, hotter now than it had been a few minutes ago.

“My name,” Sebastian mutters, reluctant to give up Kurt’s cock in order to speak. “Keep saying my name…please…”

“Sebastian,” Kurt obliges, almost unconsciously when Sebastian takes the entirety of Kurt’s length down his throat. “Oh, Sebastian!”

“Yes,” Sebastian groans. “God, yes…”

Vibrations from Sebastian’s mouth shoot all over Kurt’s skin, and he loses the little thread of self-control he has left.

“Sebastian…” Kurt’s broken voice pleads, but he makes sure to keep saying Sebastian’s name. “Please, Sebastian…”

“Do you want to cum this way?” Sebastian asks, circling the sword tattoo in small circles with his tongue.

“I…Sebastian…what about you?”

“We have all night, darling. I’ll get my chance.” Sebastian licks a long stripe between Kurt’s legs, and he keens loudly.

“Th-then yes,” Kurt begs. “Please! Please make me cum!”

Sebastian smiles and lowers his mouth over him slowly, swallowing around him as he goes, fueled by Kurt’s mewling whimpers and constant whispers and moans.

“Sebastiansebastiansebastiansebastian…” Kurt murmurs over and over until it’s not even just a word anymore, but an exclamation, a promise, a prayer; a single stream of consciousness. In this moment before the possibility of remembering scurries away and one thing overwhelms Kurt – the total ecstasy of cumming down Sebastian’s throat – he realizes that this is what he longs to remember most; feeling complete and connected.

He has a family.

He has a home.

The walls are covered in proof of a life well lived; one that he wants to return to.

Everything will come back to him in good time. For right now, Sebastian is his memory.

Sebastian climbs up Kurt’s body and without a word captures his mouth, and Kurt takes this moment to clear his muddled mind and treasure it – the taste of himself on his husband’s lips, the slide of Sebastian’s skin over Kurt’s body, all the sacrifices that have been made so that Kurt can climb out of the darkness and learn how to live again.

He compartmentalizes every moment of Sebastian’s fingers on his face, tracing around his smile and the drying tracks of his tears, the way Sebastian’s beautiful green eyes darken with lust and yet still look down at him with such unbridled, sweet love and affection.

Kurt gathers all of these things so that later he can add them somewhere to the pages of Sebastian’s journal.

***

Sebastian wakes before Kurt in the early morning, the dark sky outside the penthouse’s large picture windows barely kissed with traces of sunlight on the horizon. He looks down at the sleeping man beside him and smiles, overjoyed to have his husband with him in his bed, but wary of what will greet him when Kurt finally wakes up.

Last night was so wonderful, as all the nights before it had been, which is why it gets progressively more and more painful to face the fury of a frightened Kurt Hummel, lost and confused, half-dressed and barreling toward the door, throwing curses Sebastian’s way. Sebastian’s resolve is like steel, and he vows to see this ride to the end however long it takes, but every day that passes he wonders how much longer that will be.

He brushes a kiss along Kurt’s temple, lingering for a moment in case this is the last kiss he gets before the evening. He sets the journal beside Kurt, hoping that it’s the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, then he slinks carefully out of bed, wrapping a robe around his body and heading down to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

Sebastian watches the coffee drip into the pot, counting each drop that falls, distracting his mind from the man asleep upstairs. He drinks his coffee standing by the counter, eyes trained on the staircase that leads up to the second floor, waiting for Kurt to come racing down. It usually doesn’t take too long when Sebastian gets out of bed for Kurt to follow suit; probably the heat of his body escaping jars Kurt awake., but after an hour passes and Kurt doesn’t emerge, Sebastian considers climbing back upstairs and into bed.

Sebastian hears the bedroom door creak open and Kurt’s footsteps pad down the hallway and onto the staircase, slowly picking his way from stair to stair, trying to be as quiet as possible. Sebastian sips his coffee and braces himself for whatever Kurt might bring with him – a fit of tears, a level a hundred screaming fit, or a right cross and a threat to call the police.

Kurt appears dressed in Sebastian’s dress shirt from the night before, an expression on his face that’s slightly terrified but mostly curious.

“Sebastian?” Kurt says quietly. Sebastian stops drinking his coffee and lowers his cup to the counter, turning with the shadow of a hopeful grin on his face.

“Do you…remember me?” Sebastian asks, not making a move to reach out to Kurt so he doesn’t shrink away.

“No…not really,” Kurt answers sadly. “Not in clear images. More like feelings. Impressions.” Kurt raises his arms and Sebastian can see the brown leather cover of the journal in his hands. He hugs it to his chest. “But, this book…”

“You read it?”

“Yes…most of it,” Kurt admits. “The parts you wrote about how we met, our first kiss…a few things I guess I wrote last night.”

Sebastian can sense Kurt’s discomfort. He shifts from foot to foot ceaselessly, gaze darting to the front door.

“You can take that with you if you want,” Sebastian says, trying to come across as nonchalant in the face of his failure and Kurt’s inevitable departure, “I have another one here.”

“I…” Kurt starts walking toward Sebastian, staring at his bare feet pattering across the hardwood floor as he chews his lip, “…was actually hoping I wouldn’t have to leave.” Kurt raises his eyes to meet Sebastian’s wide-eyed stare. “I was hoping I could stay here, with you, and give this a try.”

Kurt doesn’t wait for a response. He crowds Sebastian with his body and Sebastian wraps his arms around him.

“But, I thought you said you didn’t remember me?” Sebastian asks, nuzzling Kurt’s hair with his nose and breathing him in.

“I do and I don’t,” Kurt admits. “I don’t remember how we met, but I know you take your coffee black with two sugars. I don’t remember our first date, but I know your favorite color is blue. All this stuff you wrote in the journal…I want that all back.” Kurt sighs when Sebastian kisses his forehead. “I may not remember much about you, but you feel like home, Sebastian. I want to come home. What do you think?”

“I think,” Sebastian says with a long, shuddering sigh, “that it sounds like a start.”


	3. The Hundredth Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had always meant to write a chapter that would wrap this story up, but it was a little bit difficult for me. But I finally did it. I hope you all like it. I'm sorry that it took so long :)

It’s strange the things Kurt’s mind decides to remember and when. He can’t recall his graduation from high school, but he knows without a doubt that when he was five he wanted to be a demi soloist with the New York City Ballet, and that, to that end, his mother bought him ballet shoes and a tutu, and sent him to classes every Saturday afternoon.

He also remembers vividly the way the children and the adults in that class made fun of him for being the only boy, but that his mother had a very careful and ingenious way of making sure that he knew, even at that tender age, that their laughing didn’t matter, that their comments didn’t matter, that the only thing that mattered was whether or not he loved to dance.

Which he did, and which he would for the rest of his life, even if, for the moment, he doesn’t recall all the steps.

As for the when, that seems to be more unpredictable, and in some cases, crueler. It was during an extremely passionate night of love making with Sebastian that Kurt had a sudden flashback of an argument they had in high school, over what, Kurt realized, was his then boyfriend, whose name he doesn’t know. (Sebastian offered to tell him, but Kurt decided he didn’t care.) But the argument in question, at a coffee shop he apparently used to frequent called The Lima Bean, was heated and angry, with vulgar insults thrown back and forth, the vast majority of derogatory comments made more by Sebastian than by Kurt.

And Kurt’s brain chose that second, right before an epic climax, to remember them.

It didn’t make Kurt mad at Sebastian; it made him unbearably sad.

“Why?” he had asked in tears, shivering naked in his husband’s arms. “Why did we end up together? How did we fall in love if you hated me so much?”

“Well,” Sebastian started, quelling the urge to add ‘ _to be fair, you hated me, too_ ’ to the equation, “because that’s the way we communicated with one another, when we were young and immature, unsure of our feelings, until we pulled our heads out of our asses and found something better.”

“Really?” Kurt sniffed. “Like what?”

Sebastian smiled, putting a hand under his husband’s chin to tilt his face toward him.

“Like this, for one,” he said, kissing Kurt gently on the lips one time, then another, until Kurt’s crying stopped, and he laid out over Sebastian’s body, eager to try for epic climax number two.

By the next day, Kurt’s sore body remembered the spectacular sex, but his mind had no memory of the heartbreaking conversation that went with it.

The status of Kurt’s memory seems in constant flux. No one, not even the specialists Sebastian starts taking him to, can predict if he’s going to recover completely. Surprisingly, it’s not that big a deal to Kurt. Sebastian, who anchors Kurt to the here and now, has become the caretaker of Kurt’s memories. They go over them together daily, adding to them when Kurt is able. Some things Kurt retains, others seem forever out of his reach, and must be repeated at the dawn of each new morning.

Kurt calls every day after 100 his _hundredth day_. The hundredth day was supposed to be the day that Sebastian gave in, tied Kurt up, and dragged him back to their penthouse, to hold him prisoner until his memory returned and thus saving him from himself. They had agreed on it, even though Kurt couldn’t recall that conversation. But Kurt feels like Sebastian has been saving him every day. More and more it’s sinking in that this is where he belongs. He belongs in their bedroom room, meaningfully decorated with images of his life, labeled and anecdoted, instead of in his dinky apartment, filled with thrift store furniture and little else - nothing personal, nothing that speaks of who he is because he never knew. He belongs uptown, studying to become a fashion designer (though he hasn’t the courage to go back to a physical school just yet, taking online courses that Sebastian clued him in to for the time being). He belongs in a place where he can learn about the things that were important to him, especially his family back in Ohio, and the steps he took that led him to New York. But most of all, Kurt belongs with his husband. He belongs with Sebastian.

Kurt likes the person he was before, but he doesn’t entirely hate the man he became due to his memory loss, so some things change, and others stay. The purple in his hair he keeps, but he wears more Vivienne Westwood than British punk rock chic. And he still sings at the club on weekends, with Sebastian wearing ripped jeans and vintage t-shirts, sitting in the front row, cheering him on.

Kurt gets used to seeing Sebastian in the mornings now. When he opens his eyes to Sebastian’s sleeping face, he’s not quite as startled as he was anymore. It’s not really because Sebastian is in his memory first thing, because memories are ephemeral. Sure, some of them ram him in the gut like the upswing of a nine iron with the intensity with which they return, but mostly they ebb in and out of his mind like foam on the tide. Sometimes they’re abundant, but eventually, they fade. Sebastian’s presence in his life is like a mark, or a tattoo, which is one of the first things that Kurt requested the day he came home to stay. It’s on his inside right wrist - a rusted, antique lock and key, with the names Kurt and Sebastian underneath.

Sebastian has it, too.

They agree to keep paying the rent on Kurt’s apartment. His mind has sort of programmed itself to go there on the really bad days – on the days when he wakes up screaming and he can’t remember anything for all the pictures and journals in the world. When Kurt runs out of their penthouse, Sebastian follows, but ultimately, he knows that Kurt has a safe place to go to.

Kurt’s father comes to visit, and a new journal appears on Kurt’s bedside dresser. Soon, the journals get digitized, and Kurt’s short term memory manifests as a Dior grey tablet that he carries with him everywhere. It has his journal entries scanned and categorized, every picture on the wall saved to his gallery, and a slideshow running constantly. His screen has file icons titled things like – Open on a Bad Day, Open on a Really Bad Day, Pictures of You (the early years), Pictures of You (the later years), Pictures of the Man You Sleep Next to, Pictures of the Man You Sleep Next to (Naked Edition).

That last file’s the one he opens the most, and not just because it’s filled with photos of a gorgeous man completely undressed, but because they’re so incredibly intimate that even when he has a hard time pinning down when he took them (and each caption indicates very clearly that _he_ took them), they take his breath away.

Kurt has his good days. He has his bad days. He has his downright-indescribable-horrific-tantrum-throwing-terrible days, but those have become few and far between. But Kurt’s not the only one changing, he’s not the only person rediscovering himself. Sebastian, who barely had patience for anyone else’s shit to begin with, who fell in love with Kurt partly for his fierce independence, finds himself working his ass off to make his husband fall in love with him every day, all over again…and he actually looks forward to it.

When things are good, Sebastian’s there to kiss him and hold him and make love to him until he can’t breathe. When things are bad, Sebastian holds him tighter, kisses him longer, and tells him in a hundred ways how much he loves him. And when Kurt has no idea who Sebastian is, Sebastian takes Kurt’s hand in his, opens his journal, and leads him back to the start.

Kurt doesn’t remember everything. Some days, he remembers nothing. But the one thing he knows for certain without having to consciously think about it is that every day, after the world starts to sink back in, he loves Sebastian just a little bit more.


End file.
